by Noelle Adams
So I say, “Was prison terrible? You always made it sound kind of boring in your letters.”
“Eh.”
“Eh? You’re saying ‘eh’ about prison?”
For the first time since we got outside, his eyes warm with that glint of laughter. “Eh pretty much describes it.”
“Was it like Oz?”
“Oz?” He laughs for real, delicious and husky. “It wasn’t maximum security, Sam. I wasn’t in there with killers. They gave me a pretty easy sentence since I had no history of violence. I was with mostly white-collar criminals and soccer dads. I was near the top of the food chain.”
“Oh.”
I’m not sure what I was imagining for him in prison, but it wasn’t that.
It’s a relief though. Knowing my sweet, gruff friend wasn’t victimized in there. I was always worried because Hunter gave me so few details about his day-to-day situation in his letters.
We’ve turned a corner on the sidewalk, and I look around at the cars, the buildings, the people walking around us. “Where are we going, anyway?”
Hunter nods at a motorcycle parked between two cars at the curb. “We’re going there.”
I pull to a stop. “What?”
“You want to ride a motorcycle. Don’t deny it ’cause I know you do. So here you go.”
I reach out to hold on to his arm, my knees suddenly shaky. “Is that yours?”
“No. It’s a buddy’s. I don’t actually have a vehicle at the moment, but he’s letting me borrow this for a week or two. But here’s your chance.”
“But... but...” I don’t know anything about motorcycles, but I recognize the Harley-Davidson logo on the side. We’ve moved closer now, and it looks huge.
Huge.
Far too huge to ride.
Hunter has that little smirk on his face, unconcealed by the dark beard. “You said you wanted to start living life. So get your little ass on the seat.”
My shoulders stiffen. “I don’t have a little ass!” I’m not sure why I say that. It’s pretty stupid. But my heart is hammering, and my mind is whirling, and I feel unsteady on my own feet.
I’m not used to feeling that way.
“Yeah, you do.” His eyes take a leisurely stroll over my body, lingering on my butt.
“I do not!” As I mentioned, my body is quite curvy, and my ass is the curviest part.
“Angel, I can fit your little ass in my hands.”
The nickname hits me hard, since he used to call me angel occasionally in high school. It was never an affectionate endearment, no matter how it might sound. It was funny, teasing. I was an angel because I was always trying to be good, always trying to do the right thing, never getting into any sort of trouble.
But still... It triggers memories that mean a lot to me.
Struggling to focus on the argument at hand, I say coolly, “No, you can’t.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
He takes a step closer to me, and I suck in a breath.
Waiting.
Flushed.
Trembling.
“Well?” he demands.
“Well what?”
“Well, do you want me to test it? You wouldn’t let me hug you before, so I’m not gonna put my hands on your ass unless you say I can.”
“Oh.” I must be as red as a beet now, but this feels like a challenge, and I’m not going to let him win. “Sure. Go ahead and test it.”
I’m holding my breath as he eases even closer. Then he reaches out and spans the side of my ribs with his big hands. They slide down slowly to my hips, over the pretty pink top Chelsea bought me. Then they’re on my jeans, moving over the snug denim until they’re curving around my butt.
I really can’t believe it, but my butt does kind of fit in his hands. Not every inch is covered, of course, but I feel his fingertips where my ass meets the back of my thighs, and the heels of his hands are pushing into the top of the curve.
Hunter Ness is holding my ass in his hands.
My cheeks burn, and all my female parts are clenching excitedly.
Way too excitedly.
I shouldn’t be reacting this way.
Hunter’s body feels kind of tense, but he still has that smirk on his face. He’s not making a move on me. He’s just teasing.
He’s always just teasing.
I clear my throat and step back, causing him to drop his hands. “Don’t gloat,” I say.
He chuckles. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” His body seems to have relaxed now, but nothing in my body is relaxing anytime soon. “So now that we’ve got that settled, get your little ass on the seat.”
I turn to look at the motorcycle again, trying to control what’s going on inside my body.
And I can’t.
I can’t control it.
If I get on that motorcycle with Hunter, it will get even worse.
I shake my head with a little smile. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?” he demands with a frown. “You want to ride a motorcycle, and now you can.”
“I know. But I don’t need to do it right now. I’ve never done it before.”
“I’d be with you.”
I clench my hands and try to sound casual. “I know. But I don’t know what I’m doing, and I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of the whole city.”
“Ah. Well, maybe later. When it’s just us.”
That sounds like a promise.
A good one.
“Anyway, it’s not about the motorcycle. It’s about... living life. It just feels sometimes like it’s passed me by.”
“I just offered to let you ride a motorcycle, and you wussed out.”
“I didn’t wuss out!” When I see his elevated eyebrows, I add, “Okay. I did. A little. But it’s not usually because I wuss out. It’s because I haven’t had the chance to do things. You know, Pop is always nagging me and Chelsea because we’re not married. As if getting married is something we can just step outside and do.” I shake my head and lower my eyes. “He threatened Melissa last year, so she went out and asked a guy to marry her. She just up and asked him. They weren’t dating, and they didn’t even really like each other.”
“Did he say yes?”
“Yep. They were both getting something out of it, and then they fell in love, so it all worked out. But now I think Pop believes that’s how it should work. Just go out and find yourself an available guy. Sometimes I think I should do what Melissa did and choose the most inappropriate guy I can find and ask him to marry me, just to show Pop—”
I break off then because an idea has just popped into my head.
My eyes meet Hunter’s across the few inches we’re standing apart on the sidewalk. We don’t say a word. Just look at each other.
He’s had the same thought I have.
I know it. I see it in his eyes.
It’s one of those moments of pure, perfect, wordless understanding.
“No,” he says gruffly, taking a slight step backward. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Why not?” Now that the idea has occurred to me, I can’t shake it. It’s perfect.
Perfect.
And not just because I’ve been crazy about this man since I was fifteen years old.
“You know why not. It’s ridiculous.” For the first time since we left the coffee shop, he looks slightly flustered.
“I know it is, but let’s just think about it for a minute. You need a job and a place to live. I want to help you out, but I can’t do it unless we’re closer than friends. He actually told me he would help you out if you were my husband. Why shouldn’t we do it?”
“Why shouldn’t—? Because it’s marriage. And I’d be mooching off you big time and giving you nothing in return.” He looks almost angry, and I’m not sure why.
“Yes, you would. Weren’t we just talking about these things I want to do that I haven’t been able to do yet? Marriage is one of them.”
“But not to me
.” He still sounds faintly outraged, almost offended by the suggestion.
It’s clearly never occurred to him that I might want him as more than a friend.
There’s safety in that. Enough that I’m able to continue in my most reasonable voice, “Sure. But it’s not like we’d be stuck together for life. It would just be temporary. A year or so. I’m not dating anyone right now. Are you?”
“I just got out of prison. Of course not.”
“So what’s the problem? It would help you out, and I could... I don’t know... practice at life.”
“Practice?”
“Yeah. Practice. Do some of the things I want to do without all the... stakes. You could help me out with some of the other things I want to do, and you’d get a job and a place to live. I know it sounds insane, but think it would be a pretty even trade.”
His mouth twists, and he rubs his beard distracted. “You can’t really mean this.”
“I do mean it.” I meet his eyes intentionally. “Look at me. I do mean it. Don’t you ever get these flashes where you know exactly what you need to do, exactly what you want to do. This is it for me. I know it’s ridiculous, but I think we should get married.”
“So just a temporary thing?”
“Of course it’s just temporary.”
“You want me to be your... practice husband.”
“Exactly. Just practice for me, and a practical thing for you. We always got along really well, didn’t we?”
“Yeah. But that was years ago.”
“So you don’t want to hang out with me now?”
“Not me. I mean you. Do you really want me for a friend and your practice husband? Now, after everything...”
My heart hurts for just a moment at the look on his face. I let out a breath. “Yes. I still want you as a friend. And I’m kind of excited about the idea of having a practice husband. How many women can claim to have such a privilege?”
My tone must have relieved a lot of his concern because he gives me almost a smile. “You’re something else. You know that, right?”
“If you say so.” I’m grinning now. “I thought my sister was so brave and amazing for getting married the way she did last year. I want to be brave like her and do something spontaneous and unpredictable just because I can. I think we should do it.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“I think we should think about it for a day or two before we jump into something so big.”
I nod. “Sounds fine to me. Let’s think about it.”
I have no problem with waiting a couple of days so that Hunter can feel like he’s not taking advantage of me, but the wait isn’t going to change anything.
I can see the answer already in his eyes.
He’s eventually going to say yes.
Two
THERE’S A CHAPTER IN Little Women where Meg spends a week with her rich friends and has her head turned by fancy clothes and parties. Meg ends up with an attitude, and I’m always satisfied when she’s appropriately chastised by the story and returns to her sweet, normal self.
But that moment in the book when she steps out of her ordinary life and enters a glittering world of wealth is one I can deeply understand.
Pop has money, but he’s never been an extravagant person, and I’ve always felt out of place and overwhelmed when I walk into a location that feels genuinely expensive.
I feel that way whenever I visit Melissa and her husband’s place. They live in a big, impressive apartment on the top floor of a fancy building. Her husband, Trevor, was renting it before they got married, but they’ve recently bought it.
It’s sleek and airy with high-end finishes, and I like the place a lot.
But I always feel kind of like an interloper whenever I visit.
This evening, Chelsea and I are having dinner with them.
Melissa is pretty with gold-blond hair, a slim figure, and a no-nonsense air about her. She’s the most organized person I know, and her sheer competence can be intimidating.
Not to me—she’s my sister and I know the soft, fragile heart she tries to hide—but to other people. She’s actually relaxed a lot since she’s gotten married, and I really like her handsome, clever husband.
We have a good time at dinner since Chelsea keeps us entertained with funny stories and Trevor makes us laugh with dry comments. I enjoy the conversation and the food, but I’m pleased when Trevor gets a phone call from a client and leaves us alone.
I have a few things to tell my sisters, and I’d rather not do so in front of Trevor.
“All right,” Melissa says as soon as Trevor disappears down the hall. “Let’s hear it.”
She’s looking at me, so I know who the words are directed toward. “Let’s hear what?”
“You know what. You had coffee with Hunter this afternoon, and all evening you’ve looked like you’re about to burst with news.”
“I have not.”
“Yes, you have,” Chelsea says. “Something happened with Hunter, and we want to know what it is.”
“We just had coffee. Nothing happened. Really.”
“Then why do you look like you’re going to explode if you don’t talk?” That’s Chelsea, her eyes wide and excited.
I’m not a super-social person and have never been the life of any party. But I do have friends. I have pretty good friends I made in high school and college, and I know and like a lot people who are in graduate school with me. But there’s still no one in my life I’ve ever been closer to than my sisters. They’re my best friends. And I’d never be able to keep a secret from them, so I don’t even try. “Well, something odd did happen. I don’t know if it will come to anything, but... it was odd.”
“Spill,” Melissa says.
“Hunter needs a job and a place to live, or he’s not going to be able to stay out on parole. He’s hitting up every lead he knows and coming up empty.”
“I guess that’s to be expected.” Melissa’s expression is sympathetic. “It sucks, but it’s hard going if you’ve been in prison.”
“Yeah. I told him I wish I could help him out with a job with Pop’s and a place to live, but...”
“Pop would never go for that,” Chelsea finishes for me.
“Exactly. The only way Pop would help him out is if he was my husband. So then I had this idea.” I’m kind of embarrassed, since the idea is so out there, but it’s not any crazier than Melissa marrying Trevor last year to stick it to Pop.
“Shit,” Melissa mutters.
“You wouldn’t!” Chelsea breathes.
It’s clear both of them know exactly what the end of this explanation will be. “I don’t know,” I admit. “I kind of want to do it.”
“You said you don’t have a crush on him anymore.” Melissa doesn’t sound judgmental or disapproving. Just astonished.
“I don’t. I mean, there might be a few lingering feelings from high school, but that’s not what this is about. I want to... I want to get going on life, even if it’s not the real thing. I want to know what it’s like to be married. And I want to help Hunter. He needs it, and he’s always been a good guy. I don’t care if he’s been in prison. He’s still a good guy.”
“But—” Melissa breaks off her objection.
“Very smart of you not to put up an argument, given what you and Trevor did last year.”
“That was a little different. I was desperate.”
“Well, Hunter is desperate. And this actually makes more sense than you and Trevor. You didn’t even like Trevor when you married him. I do like Hunter. We’re good friends, and we’ve always gotten along really well. It’s going to be fine. We’ll have a good time together, and we can end the marriage after a year or so, once Hunter can afford his own place. It’s just not a big deal.”
“It’s a marriage,” Chelsea says, her blue eyes as wide as saucers. “It’s kind of a big deal.”
“It doesn’t have to be. It’s an arrangement of convenience, and I really can’t th
ink of any serious downsides.”
“Pop won’t be happy,” Melissa murmurs.
“I consider that an upside, not a downside.”
Both my sisters give me skeptical looks at this, and Chelsea says, “No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
Melissa shakes her head, although her face is sympathetic. “You might want to feel like it’s an upside, but you don’t. You don’t want to disappoint Pop. You don’t want to disappoint anyone. You’ve always been like that.”
“Remember after Mom and Dad died?” Chelsea says. “When Pop told us we should plant that memorial garden for them in that overgrown flowerbed. I know Pop thought it would help, but it was such a dumb idea for three girls like us. We had no idea what we were doing. Melissa stormed off, saying Mom and Dad wouldn’t care about a garden. I tried a little bit, but it was too hard so I quit. But you worked on that stupid garden for days and days until you’d finally gotten the weeds up and the plants planted. It didn’t matter if it was a dumb idea. You still wanted to do what he said.”
The memory hurts me a little—both the memory of losing our parents as children and how hard I worked on that silly flowerbed as I tried desperately to live up to Pop’s expectations for all three of us.
I look down at a crumb on the table from the piece of baguette I ate earlier. “Yeah, I know. I’ve always tried to be so good. But I don’t want to forever be like that. I don’t think I have to be that way.”
“No. You don’t. You should be you,” Melissa says. “Not what Pop or anyone else expects of you.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do. It’s a weird way to do it, but it’s what I can do right now.”
My sisters both nod at this, and I feel better at their expressions. They might not think this is the smartest thing in the world, but they’re going to support me in what I do.
I’m about to say something else when my phone rings. When I check the screen, I see it’s Hunter and my heartbeat accelerates dramatically.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” Chelsea whispers, as if Hunter might be able to overhear her.
“Yes.”
